


Face to Face

by cassandrapentayaaaaas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Some angst, kiss prompts, lots of fluff, lots of hugs, lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 05:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12052299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandrapentayaaaaas/pseuds/cassandrapentayaaaaas
Summary: A collection of kiss prompts between the ambassador and my OC, Peter.





	1. ‘I don’t have the words right now so here’s a kiss’

It is an unusual occurrence to catch the Seeker or the ambassador at rest. But by some freak coincidence–one that probably denotes a major catastrophe, in the near future–they find themselves enjoying the garden at the same time.

Josephine occupies herself with some personal correspondence; yet another letter to Yvette, cautioning her to make better use of her painting lessons, before they are withdrawn. Cassandra sits nearby, deeply entrenched in one of Varric’s novels… It’s cover is not one that the ambassador recognizes.

A playful shriek from Morrigan’s boy, Kieran, pulls the attention of both women from their respective literature. Josephine grins as she watches the Inquisitor stomp towards the child like a monster, arms raised above his head and laughter in his eyes.

“He has convinced Morrigan to let him near the child,” notes Cassandra, seemingly impressed. “That would take no small amount of charm.”

Josephine returns to her letter as she responds to the observation, “I would have to agree. While I would wish the responsibility on no one, we’re fortunate to have lord Trevelyan is the figurehead of our cause.”

Cassandra nods. “He has a way with words that many do not… And he is a good man.”

“Yes,” replies Josephine, gaze and smile soft as she runs a finger, absently, along the edge of a page. “He is.”

She looks up again, and Peter is spinning in circles with Kieran on his shoulders. Their laughter fills the garden, and Josephine wonders at the man before her.

He has seen so much. The destruction of his circle and of Haven, the Breach, the Fade. He has facilitated death on battlefields and stages, and shaped countries with his decisions. For nearly a year, he has carried the weight of the known world on his shoulders.

But those accomplishments are not the things she marvels at.

It is the man underneath it all that sets her mind reeling. Through everything he has endured, he has remained so… Peter. Under all this crushing weight, he is still so kind, so gentle, and so funny.

She aches when it wears on him. She’s seen the light dim in his eyes and his smile all but fade after a particularly bloody mission, and she knows how his shoulders sag once the reality sets in that he simply cannot save everyone. But he comes through it, stronger every time. More passionate, more loving, better prepared.

She is amazed by him, this man made of both steel and feather beds. And suddenly gobsmacked by an overwhelming feeling of adoration, she wonders if anyone has ever told him that he is so many things.

She stands, leaving her letters with the Seeker, and moves towards him, grinning once more as he drapes a giggling Kieran over his shoulders like a towel. “This is mutiny!” cries the boy.

“Aye, that it be!” returns Peter, in a pirate’s growl. Josephine taps his shoulder, a meaningful speech already set on her tongue as he turns.

But it is lost when their eyes connect. The ambassador, outfitted with words as her weapons, is stunningly disarmed by the man before her. He smiles at her, eyes bright and face red from running. A lopsided, lovestruck grin graces his features.

“Hi!” he beams, shifting the boy to one shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Josephine is suddenly reminded of her intent, but still the words are lost to her. She opens her mouth, and closes it. Finally, she laughs and shakes her head with a grin to match her love’s, and pulls him into a kiss that she can only hope will do the job she has otherwise forsaken.

“You… are amazing,” he laughs breathlessly as they break apart. “And I needed that.”

“Me? Amazing?” She questions, and in truth, she is somewhat floored by the assertion. But she smirks as she straightens his collar, “That’s funny; I was just thinking the same thing about you,” They stand there for a moment, grinning at each other, simply because they can.

“Inquisitor?” calls a muffled Kieran.

Peter’s expression falls in confusion as he turns slightly too look for the child. He laughs and runs a hand down his face as he realizes Kieran is still slung over his shoulder. “Yes, captain Kieran?” he calls towards his back.

“If the mutiny is over, may I please come down?”

“Of course, Ser!” returns Peter, snapping a salute as he deposits the boy on the ground. “The mutiny was unsuccessful, and you have been reinstated at the helm.”

“Can we search for treasure by the peonies, then?” asks the excited captain. “We haven’t checked there.”

“At your order, Ser.”

Peter shoots Josephine a wink and begins to trail off after Kieran. But not before the ambassador catches his hand, taking it in both of her own. “Will you have time for dinner, tonight?” she asks. Her pulse quickens, unbidden. There is still a rush that comes from seeking his attention, even after all these months. “I would… like some time alone, if we can manage it.”

“For you?” asks Peter, eyebrows raised and grin ready, “I’ve got all the time in the world.”


	2. 'Tipsy Kiss'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half a year before the events of Trespasser, the Inquisition takes to the Free Marches to settle some land disputes, stopping off in Kirkwall on their way. In an evening spent with the newly-appointed, dwarven Viscount, the Inquisitor has ended up drunk for the first time in his life. This scene takes place after Varric has returned Peter, safely, to his inn.

Josephine sits in her room, entirely engrossed in the novel before her. Her pulse is quick, her eyes wide, and her nail almost bitten to the quick as she races across the page. The protagonist–a brave young woman–is about to enter a mansion said to be so steeped in the blood of its past that the dead rise from the ground with each step a visitor takes.

The heroine’s hand is on the door knob. She twists it, slowly. The door creeeeeks open, and–

_knock, knock, knock… knock!_

Truthfully, the sound is gentle as it reverberates through the door, but it is enough to startle the book right out of Josephine’s hand, nonetheless. With a huff, she tightens her dressing gown and stalks towards the door. It had better not be another message from lord Bradbury. She has told his servants to stop bringing them to her quarters, as well as to inform their master that the Inquisition has no interest in being bribed in his favor. Why do nobles struggle so terribly with the word ‘no,’ she wonders?

She opens her mouth to ask who’s intruding on her so long after hours, but is cut off by Peter’s voice, in a loud attempt at a whisper; “Joooooooo.”

“…Peter?” she inquires, craning an ear towards the door.

“Yeah.” She can hear the smile in his voice, but there is something off about the cadence. The word is too long–sleepy, like when she wakes him from a nap in her office. “D-don’t let me in, please. I’d very much like to kiss you right now, but I’ll be happier tomorrow if you keep me out here, tonight… I think I’m very drunk.”

Josephine stifles a laugh. “I see the Viscount has wasted no time in showing you the merits of Kirkwall.”

“I don’t like Kirkwall’s merits very much,” moans Peter. She can hear him slide down the door, landing with an ‘oof!’ in front of it. She crouches down on her own side to better hear him. “But I really like you, Josephine.”

The ambassador smiles, tracing gentle patters into the wood of the door, where she imagines Peter’s back might be. “I know, my love.”

“’Love’!” laughs the Inquisitor. She hears a small thud, which she believes to be his head gently connecting with the door, as he lets it fall backwards. “That’s the word for it. How’d I forget that one?”

“I think we can pin it on the drink,” she chuckles.

“You’re right… I’ve decided drinking isn’t for me. Varric can show me the harbor, the next time we come to Kirkwall,” he says. “Fewer drinks. More Wicked Grace.” She smiles, and there is silence for a moment. It is comfortable; a form of togetherness, though the door still separates them. “Do you think people decide who they love?” he asks, finally.

She considers the question. She can remember no conscious thought behind loving her family, or Leliana, or even Peter. “No,” she supposes, “do you?”

“No,” he admits, “…but I also think that loving you is the best decision I’ve never made.”

She is caught off guard by the sheer sweetness of it, and she feels a lump form in her throat. What an odd, wonderful man. “I love you, too,” she whispers.

Josephine hears him rise, using the wall to steady himself as he grunts his way to his full height. She stands again, as well. “I should go.” he sighs, and words catch in her throat as she finds that she is loathe to let him leave.

“Peter?” calls the ambassador, suddenly, hands fiddling with the knotted belt of her robe.

“Hm?”

“… I’d very much like to kiss you, right now.”

There is a pause in which she can practically feel him grin before he replies. “Alright,” he says. “Just through a crack in the door, please?”

Josephine respects his wish, opening the door just enough to smile up at the pale green eyes which greet her. Their lips meet; a tender touch that warms her chest. He sighs into it, making her giggle. The alcohol that lingers on his mouth has a taste that the ambassador greatly dislikes. But it matters very little, because as he leaves her with a gentle smile and a wobbly kiss to the forehead, Josephine thinks that she couldn’t love him a single ounce more.

Even if she had the choice.


	3. ‘You nearly died’ kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the defeat of Corypheus, and the events of The Descent DLC. 
> 
> After five months away from Skyhold (one of them spent all but lost in the Deep Roads), Peter returns home.

She is more than a foot shorter than he.

But there is no sense of that as she stalks up to him, feet heavy as they land on the flagstones of the empty and dimly-lit Great Hall, hands balled into fists at her side. Her eyes burn with a sort of heat he is sure she reserves only for her most troublesome political adversaries. He should be afraid–and perhaps he is, standing there, alone in the antechamber, completely unable to move as her dressing gown trails behind her. He can feel that his mouth is agape; a stark contrast to Josephine’s which is pursed, tightly. 

She is upon him, now, staring up at him, fiercely. He stutters in an attempt to say something—anything. “Jo, I—“

But suddenly, her hand is on the front of his collar, dragging him down as the other wraps around the back of his neck. The last thing he sees is the concentration in her brow, before she pulls him into a crushing, beautiful kiss.

If he had been speechless before, he can consider himself fully mute, for the time being. Her lips are warmer than he remembers; a miraculous warmth that sends shivers up his spine. Maker, he has missed everything about her.

“A month,” she growls, breaking away only to say those words. Then she is all over his face, again; grasping it, placing heated kisses to every inch of skin she can find. “A month. Without word. In the Deep Roads. All they found. Was your gauntlet.” Sweet Andraste, he is already drunk on her, hands on her back and weak in the knees as she grips him. “You could have died.” 

That is when he notices the tears. 

“ _I thought you died_ ,” she breathes. “You survived so many dangers: the Breach, the Fade, Corypheus, but how much more luck do we–” but she cannot finish the thought and shakes her head miserably, averting her gaze to stare at the folds of his lapel.

“Josephine,” he consoles, hands at the sides of her face, thumbs wiping away tears. His heart shatters as he feels her entire body tremble with pent up emotion. “There was a cave-in…” he croaks, “and then the titan… I-I should have left messages for the scouts to find… I’m so sorry… my sweet girl; I should have thought…” He curses himself, internally, as tears begin to prick his own eyes. He folds her tightly into his arms, willing the gesture to say things the lump in his throat won’t allow. Unwittingly, he has caused her a months’ worth of pain, and now everything burns; her lips at their place against his neck, his eyes which shut tight, the air that is trapped in his lungs.

She shudders in his embrace, and he strokes her hair. 

They stay like that for a long while, until the nerves die down. Until tears are dry, and Josephine’s small sobs have subsided. Just holding each other and swaying gently.

“I love you… so much,” he hears her whisper, finally. It carries the weight of many things with it: forgiveness, truth… a promise. She wipes at her eyes. “And I am happy that you are home.” He meets her gaze, and she offers him a warm and tired smile.

He returns it as he places a long kiss to her knuckles, keeping hold of her hand as he walks her to her chambers.


End file.
